a/n: I have so many half finished ideas and I need to just complete and post. This is one of those things that only needed a couple more paragraphs to round it out.
April 6 - June 17, 2012
The boy's power startles him out of sleep. Eyes wide open, body tensed, he looked around in the darkness, and set out his senses to investigate. The child is grabbing at his feet, rolling on his back. His face is red and scowling. There is no question that the boy is his son, his own facial expressions are constantly being mirrored back at him, the saiyajin in him at the forefront of his physical appearance. The child's power surges and he rubs a hand down his face, the woman is right he does need training.
Elsewhere in the room he located the padded chair he'd slept in for the first year of his arrival. The chair was familiar, the cushioning plush, comfortable, and shaped just for him. He'd turned it to watch the dark sky from his vantage point trying to jog his memory and rack his brain for ideas on how to begin training an infant so young. He was unsure how the chair had arrived in her room in the first place, but had remarked that the elder woman had recently again re-arranged the household. A hazy artificial glow began to creep up; the automatic city lighting was coming on in the pre-dawn hours to guide early risers to their tasks. In a few hours the sun would rise and he will have passed another day here on this planet.
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
When it came to the woman there were two, maybe three days in her cycle that she was more then able to render him weak and helpless. It felt like having everything fall into place when it happened and typically he struggled very hard against this 'rightness', as it frightened him. His body begged him to give in to her each and every time and with every new opportunity he nearly did.
On the first day she'd needed to rub her front up against his back in order to push past him in a doorway. His knees weakened, and his back became hypersensitive to better acknowledge and experience the sensation of her pressed near and across him. With nearly nothing he could do to tire himself out physically he'd had to resort to practicing
The day thereafter he sauntered into her lab with no urgency, coming to a stop right behind her watching her write out equations by hand. He couldn't remember why he'd come into the room. Her hair was pinned up off her neck, and her shoulders were near bare, interrupted only by the straps of a dress. Powerless he leaned forwards and began torturing her by pressing his mouth to her skin. "Mmm" she groans and leans back into him slightly while still scrawling across the paper. The weight of her pressing backwards into his chest is pleasant and encouraging. The assault continues and expands, upwards on the column of her neck now, and to behind her ear. She is moving in earnest now, squirming on her lab stool left and right. Her unoccupied hand is soon groping at his face, tracing her fingers up his jaw to separate his lips from her skin. When he does she presses those same digits to his mouth to hold him in pause while she finishes her equation. It does not hold and soon he has somehow convinced her fingers with his tongue to give up silencing him and instead they're digging into his hair, running along his scalp.
"Can't make this the slight bit easy can you?" She turns, marker in one hand, equation finished, even if half way through the penmanship had become sloppy. She can see the red marks from his teeth on the slope of her shoulder, aggressive and territorial indents, proclaiming his animalistic intent. She abandoned the marker and turned on her seat, "The revised plans are done, just recalculating…well, trying to," she rolled her eyes at him, "the gravity field needs to be adjusted from a circular form to an elliptical one. Aaannnddd we need to talk about bots." She was watching him, and he was sure, trying to influence him in some way with her body. He couldn't however quite decipher if she was just amazingly cunning with this knowledge, or incredibly lucky to have been found by him in such places at such a time.
Somehow, he'd become trapped between her knees, a leg on either side of his. He remembered why he'd come into this room; hands around her hips he lifted her until she was on tabletop and was quickly again between her, stool out of the way. The bottom of her dress fell between her parted legs, hiding her until he slid his hands up her legs and under the hem bunching it higher and higher around her slim waist. The further upwards he roamed the further back she leaned until she was resting on her forearms watching.
Her undergarments were patterned in cutesy hearts, the kind the made him roll his eyes at Earth's endless naivety about the dangers of the universe at large, and the endless propensity to snub their collective noses at it. His fingers brushed the leg openings and slid through until he grasped the lacy scalloped waistband and swiftly divested the woman of her underwear tossing them behind himself, most likely never to be seen again. The position felt familiar, and he ran his tongue over his teeth at the memory of her on the bathroom countertop – he was feeling adventurous; her proximity made him want to advertise his virility, very loudly.
He was always one to seek somewhere private and able to withstand holding the secret of what would transpire between its walls. Today he was bold and wanted to flaunt his connection to this woman so he snatched her wrists and pulled her forwards and off the table. He disguised ensuring her skirt fell into place by groping at her behind, running his palms against her hips, ass, and up and down her thighs. One deeply tanned hand wrapped around a pale, lighter, thinner wrist led them out of the room, and up to the top level, in which a balcony ran around to a platform and a ladder that led up to a access port. Through it, the roof, and a small area of flattened space. There was no denying that the gesture for her to go first was offered for no other reason then the simple one. Going second gave him the opportunity to follow the woman up the ladder; a little in-transit entertainment if you will.
On the roof he pulled her towards him and then tugged backwards the lapels of her white lab coat. The jacket serves as their blanket, and soon he crouches above her, muscular legs on either side of her hips, hands flicking at the buttons of her dress that trails down her chest and to her navel. His canines looked larger when he grinned as a second button separated from it's hole, and wider yet when the third, then fourth through sixth also split apart until the dress forms a V on her skin. 'Marked for me!' He thinks before pouncing.
First he works at removing the dress, nipping, licking, and suckling to distract and guide her body into letting him work the loose skirt higher. He is interrupted and his plans to dominate are razed; it is the quickest and most efficient destruction of his ability to withstand her. The desire he held not to give into the scores of moments of temptation that had amassed since his arrival was dwindling like cooling embers, its glow fading. Logically he wanted to caution himself; the last time he'd given in to her he'd nearly lost himself, enticed by all she'd offered, and confounded to find that all her promises to him had mostly held true. It'd been so good, so deeply rewarding and fulfilling that he'd fled; perpetually fearful of the expected backlash and vicious retribution for having indulged in something he had never considered he'd have. Upon his desertion of the Temptress and his newly birthed son he'd worked to cleanse himself of his experiences on the mudball planet. He'd learned later, an epiphany while standing over the woman herself upon his return, that he was never able to purge himself of the indelible mark on him, instead, he compartmentalized it, driving it all away until the death of his son once again brought it all to the forefront. Here and now, removed from the heat of the battle he could do little to look beyond her for the expected castigation. The anticipation and prospect of punishment was fading with each encounter, and every turned-true and fulfilled promise.
The destruction of his will to resist, to withhold himself from her, was followed up by a breaking of his defenses. She was in his hands, they were hot on her bare thighs, her legs bent, one arm reaching back to support herself the other pressing into his chest. Her fingers creeped along the collar line of his shirt, then her palm, pressing close through the material, over his heart. With her powers of persuasion at a high he found himself leaning backwards in his crouch, then forwards again towards her after she'd pulled herself to her knees. The V of her open dress called to him, he wanted to slide his hands into each side and run them up and down her sides, sliding a thumb under the warmth of each breast. Instead he pressed lower to the ground under her hand falling onto his haunches.
The Woman was as graceful as she was fast. The weight of her settling on his lap, warm, nude thighs pressing into his hips and legs, even her toes curling under the backs of his knees, make him flex his pelvis and grind his teeth. Adept hands work at his belt, button and zipper until she sits above him. Her hips rolling on his, skirt bunched in his hands, pressed between him and her skin. She glories in the way his eyes slid shut, dark lashes fluttering briefly in false protest. During the act she reaches for his hands, watching his slack face with a smile, guiding them atop her chest until he rubs and palms her, garnering a breathy moan from her in reward. Bulma read him superbly, skillfully, and with a mastery that elicited a pinnacle unlike any other. He clutches at her, sitting up, arms pulling her tight, chest-to-chest. Her prowess and dexterity make his legs tense, and drives him to bury his face in her neck, inhaling and immersing himself in her till the very last.
Lying in the sun's lazy afternoon rays atop her spread coat, they stayed together, napping in the warm sunlight. It felt like something they would have done before the boy came along. The sex, it made him feel closer to the man he'd been, while keeping him anchored heavily in the present, the sated quiet it brought over them was enjoyable.
These were the little things he was learning about, before she'd taught him about secret liaisons, quickies, and how to work the confusion that is earth's clothing for sexual encounters – lingerie. Now she was showing him the value of touch, and the intimacy in the moments after; the depth of their connection was growing. He found himself wanting to spend time with her outside of their trysts, and his training needs more and more time since his panicked discovery in her lab.
He finds himself watching her, tracking her as he used to in his early days. The thought of tracking her down, and perhaps even to pursuing her through the labyrinth of the compound, made his skin tingle. The excitement jumped when his mind toyed with the idea of taking his chase to the outdoors.